


The Mutual Admiration Society

by babykid528



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Blushing, Couch Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt via stellarbisexual/eff_reality and her anon: <i>If Chris Pine and Chris Evans were to ever hook up, I bet they'd spend the entire time smiling goofily at each other and saying ego-affirming things back and forth, like, "You're so smart." "No, /you/ are!" and they can never settle who gets to bottom so they just fall asleep in a puppy pile on the couch.</i></p><p>That's basically what happens here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mutual Admiration Society

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eff_reality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eff_reality/gifts).



> This is full on ridiculousness and I'm not even sorry for it. Special Thanks to jouissant for helping get me out of my own head so I could embrace the Chris/Chris name confusion here. I hope you all enjoy it! <333

Chris offers Chris a new beer before sitting down beside him on the couch.

They’d met a number of times, at different film premieres and award show parties, and they had a kind of instant affinity for one another from the start. When Chris presented that popcorn statue to Chris at the MTV Movie Awards last year, it was a turning point for them though. A weird kind of friendship blossomed from that moment, encouraged by the nervous moments they shared back stage and the drunken conversations they shared at the after parties they attended. They began texting after that, keeping in close touch, but they didn’t see each other in person ever. Not until tonight, months later, when, finally, Chris invited Chris over for dinner.

If you ask, and if he’s being honest when he answers, Chris knows this evening has been a long time coming. They’ve been textually dancing around it for months, but this dinner was inevitable. And completely worth the wait. 

Chris cooks, wowing Chris with the results, and they chat from the moment he arrives just as amiably in person as they had been via text. Only now, in person, they get the full experience of conversing that they missed in text alone: every glance, every grin, every frown, every laugh is a brilliant addition to the words they've grown used to sharing.

Plus they get to drink together while they share this new social experience. It’s kind of a perfect outcome to everything that’s been building up between them.

Well.

Almost.

“You know,” Chris says, taking a swig of his new beer before lowering the bottle to his knee, “I still can’t for the life of me figure out how anyone would confuse me for you.”

Chris has spent years of his life being mistaken for the other Chris. By fans. By casting directors. By his own sister that one time (which she refuses to acknowledge, but it absolutely happened, Chris will swear it until his death). It’s a point of constant amusement between them.

“Yeah, man, I don’t get it,” Chris says in reply, grinning sloppy already and rubbing his hand through his hair. “All Chrises look alike?”

“I guess that’s what everyone thinks… I don’t know, though.” Chris says with a grin, “I don’t really see it.”

Chris shrugs, limbs loose, expression warm.

“Neither do I.” He gestures a little wildly with his beer then. “I mean, for one thing, you’re obviously much more handsome…”

He can feel his face heating, and he can see a similar blush blooming across Chris’ face as well.

“I mean,” Chris says, gesturing with his own beer in response, “I don’t think that’s accurate.”

Chris gives him an incredulous look, one that twists his now red-splotched face comically.

“Get out of here!” He exclaims. “You’re basically an all-American god.”

Chris snorts, “That’s rich coming from you,  _Captain_.”

Chris barks out a laugh.

“You’re a Captain too, you know.”

And then they’re both laughing at the absurdity of this whole conversation – Chris with his chin tucked close to his chest while Chris throws his head back. They bump shoulders easily and then straight up collapse against one another, bottles clutched to their chests.

“Look at that,” Chris says once his laughing is back under control, “You’re more handsome  _and_  you’re smarter.”

“Not by a long shot,” Chris assures him.

His refusal to take a compliment is sweet. How sincerely he believes his own refusal to take a compliment is sweet. How his big, gorgeous frame shakes with laughter or tenses with denial is extra sweet. Everything about this guy is so completely sweet, Chris is sure he’s going to develop a cavity.

He’s always had a sweet tooth though. And damn does that blush Chris is sporting make his mouth water.

He wasn’t lying or being modest when he said Chris was the more handsome. He may have been flirting, sure, but the statement was sincere. Chris knows he’s always been awkward. He was the weird, strange looking kid growing up, and as he’s said before, that feeling always stays with you. He knows he has flaws. He knows it’s incredible he’s had such success, most of it due to his face, if his publicist is correct, and he is incredibly thankful for that. But that doesn’t stop him from thinking his fans are more than a little delusional, that Hollywood is more than a little delusional.

Chris, on the other hand, is the kind of handsome that Chris never imagined he could be, and somehow he’s found himself in this crazy world where people think he’s comparable to this poster boy for good looks sitting beside him?

Chris clears his throat then and he looks up to find a small, bashful smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re incredible,” He says without giving it a second thought.

He wants to regret it immediately, but it makes Chris blush even darker, and blink his long lashes. He licks his lips, glancing back to Chris’ mouth before he can stop himself. He hears Chris suck in a quick breath beside him.

That instant affinity they had for one another was always far from just friendly. Anyone with vision could clearly see that. Truth be told, that’s why they hadn’t gotten together before now. Their friendship was safer for their images via text.

Chris has never been entirely interested in taking the “safer” route through life though.

“Chris…”

There’s a breathy quality to the way that Chris says his name. It’s enough to draw his attention away from the guy’s mouth, back to Chris’ eyes.

“Am I completely out of line here?” He asks then.

He’s been almost sure this thing isn’t one-sided for a year now, but he’s never been  _completely_  sure. He may be willing to take risks sometimes, but he’d like a little security before he risks it all right now.

Chris stares back at him a moment, unmoving, before shaking his head. A single, quick shake affirming  _no_.

“Not at all,” He says, voice soft.

Chris isn’t sure who moves first, how they orchestrate the whole thing, but their beer bottles are somehow placed out of harm’s way, their hands are tugging at hair and shirts, their mouths are pressing roughly together, and everything goes from feeling like  _need_  to  _holy fuck too much_  incredibly quickly.

The fingers of Chris’ one hand are cool as they tug at Chris’ hair while the fingers of his other hand dig hard into his thigh through his jeans. His own hands are curled tightly, stretching Chris’ shirt horribly, fighting to get him closer.

Chris whines deep in his throat and  _holy fuck too much_  suddenly becomes  _this will never fucking ever be enough_.

Everything escalates quickly then and it becomes almost a dance. The way they both start to pull one another’s clothes off while fighting to stay pressed together. The way they cling to every bit of bared skin, digging fingertips into one another, scraping their nails, raising goosebumps.

It doesn’t take long for them both to start moaning into one another’s mouths, without restraint.

“Fuck, I didn’t even let myself think this could happen…” Chris sighs.

“I did,” Chris tells him.

Chris laughs and it has a helpless edge to it.

“I can’t even handle this,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Chris.

“Can you fuck me?” Chris asks him, lips pressed to Chris’ jaw, any trace of coyness or flirting gone. No more teasing now. Now it’s just time for truths and a little begging, if needed.

“I. Uh. What?” he asks. Chris can practically see the sparks fly as his brain short circuits.

“I really want you to fuck me,” Chris repeats himself, licking and nipping Chris’ skin between words.

“Fucking hell,” Chris whines in reply. “I was really hoping you’d fuck  _me_.”

They don’t stop what they’re doing. But they take a second and slow down.

“What?” Chris asks.

“You want to bottom?” Chris asks.

“ _You_  want to bottom?” Chris asks.

“Yeah I do,” Chris says.

“Well, so do I,” Chris tells him.

“But, you’ve seen my ass right?” Chris asks.

“Yeah, obviously,” Chris tells him, strangled voice breaking on the last half, “You’re seen mine too though, right?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Chris says.

And suddenly they  _are_  stopped.

They’re still tangled, still gripping, still touching. But the frantic pull closer goes slack and they find themselves staring at one another. The only word to describe the emotions on their faces is ‘confounded’.”

“Well, this could be a problem then,” Chris says. “Not a deal breaker or anything. But a not insignificant problem.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. “Obviously we should have talked this out first.”

Chris nods.

They both continue to stare.

“Well,” Chris says, trying to clear some of the lust from his mind, “we just should shelve the ass sex for now, I guess?”

It’s a compromise, offered almost sweetly, from someone who clearly wants his ass fucked and isn’t willing to give that up.

Chris knows that feeling. So, compromise he shall.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he replies, getting back to business and sucking hard on the spot just below Chris’ jawline, where it meets his neck.

“I mean, we can go over it again later,” Chris says, voice higher pitched than it was just seconds before.

Chris smiles against his skin, hums his agreement, and Chris takes that as his cue to let it drop and get back to better things.

They make out sloppily for what seems like hours, neither one willing to take too much control, or to push the other for more. If Chris felt tipsy before things started, he feels completely drunk with need now.

“Fuck,” he gasps as Chris bites his earlobe and roughly rubs his nipple. “I want to feel your dick.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good,” Chris says, words hot against his skin, “I want to feel yours too.”

It seems like forever from when those words are said to when they’ve both managed to undo their pants, but it’s only seconds really. Then they’re sitting bare-assed, jeans trapped around their thighs, with their fists wrapped around one another’s cocks.

It doesn’t take very long for them to get from that point, groaning obscene things softly into the bases of one another’s throats, tugging one another rough and fast, until they are both coming with shouts, filling the still house with their echoing voices.

They can’t bother cleaning up after they finish, not beyond wiping themselves off with their discarded shirts. They can’t even manage to kick off their jeans completely to get truly comfortable. Instead, they just slide down into the couch, tangled haphazardly, jeans and all. They may regret the positions they fall in and the lack of shower in the morning, but for now all they want is to burrow into one another’s warmth and sleep. So they do. 


End file.
